


No Body, No Crime

by Bibabybi



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bill Denbrough & Eddie Kaspbrak Are Best Friends, Blood, Drinking, Knives, M/M, Murder, Serial killer Bill Denbrough, Serial killer Eddie Kaspbrak, best murder friends, tags to be added as story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29938593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibabybi/pseuds/Bibabybi
Summary: Summer in Derry has always been a tense subject for the Losers Club.  Reminders of their battle with Pennywise exist at every corner.  College was supposed to be a clean slate, but the returning summer is one of the worst yet.  Even as It sleeps, kids are turning up dead at every corner.  All former Derry High students.  Despite the fear their friends have voiced, Bill Denbrough and Eddie Kaspbrak aren't worried in the slightest.  Because they're the ones behind the murders.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	No Body, No Crime

“You look really familiar.” Sally Mueller twists a stray curl around her finger, thin blond hairs going round and round and round. It almost makes Bill dizzy just to look at it. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“You’ve probably seen me around campus,” Bill lies easily.

If Sally notices the fib, she doesn’t show it. But Bill has a feeling she’s just a tad too tipsy to even consider the possibility he’s anything other than a harmless classmate. “That must be it.”

Bill grins at her over his cup. “What’s your major?”

Sally lights up at the question, leaning closer to Bill until he has a full view down her shirt. He sneaks a glance for no reason other than to sell his performance, but it gives Sally a confidence booster anyway. “I’m gonna be a singer. Once I finish my GE’s, I’m transferring to USC. They have one of the best programs in the country.”

Bill bites back a laugh. Sally had spent every talent show trying to show off her pipes, hoping to be the talk to the town. Well people talked about her all right. It was hard not to talk about the worst performance of the night. A part of Bill thought she should be proud to hold that title, it’s not like any of her competitors held any real talent either.

“A singer, huh?” he says, feigning interest. “That’s a tough gig.”

“I’m going to go into music management if it doesn’t work out,” Sally says. “But I have a good feeling about it.”

Bill’s grin turns sharp. “I do too.”

“What about you?” Sally asks politely. “What’s your major?”

Bill shrugs. “English. Nothing special.”

“English is totally a good major.” Sally reaches over to grab his bicep, squeezing lightly. “You can do so much with it.”

“Mhm. So where are you from?”

Sally’s lips twist into a frown. “You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s a really small town.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I would never go back if I could.” She scoffs and takes another swig from her drink. As if she needs any more. “Summer vacation is going to suck so much. You have no idea what that place is like.”

Bill thinks he has a pretty good idea. But that is why he started this conversation, isn’t it? “Why is it gonna suck?”

“Because there’s nothing to do there,” Sally says distastefully. “And I’m gonna have to see my best friend again.”

Bill quirks his eyebrows. “What’s so bad about that?” This is a dangerous line he’s walking. If he makes one wrong move, if she happens to catch on to who he is, he’s done for. And Eddie will kill him if he doesn’t finish this.

But he’s sort of enjoying discovering who his high school bullies have grown into in the past year. It’s all part of the game. Like a cat toying with a mouse before it snuffs the life out of it.

“She’s just so smug,” Sally frowns. “Like she thinks she’s better than me just because she got into some big, fancy college and I’m stuck  _ here _ .”

Southern Maine Community College isn’t so bad, Bill thinks. But he can understand the bitter taste in her words. He still remembers how it had felt to receive rejection after rejection his senior year.

“You said you were going to go to USC,” he reminds her, though he, truthfully, very much doubts she will ever set foot on the USC campus. “Surely that will prove her wrong.”

“Yeah!” Sally suddenly looks very sure of herself again, a smirk growing across her face as she gestures violently with her half-full cup. “Maybe then she’ll stop ignoring my phone calls. Fucking bitch.” She raises her cup to her lips. “I love her though - Oh,  _ fuck _ .” Somewhere between raising her cup and actually drinking the liquor inside, there must have been a miscalculation. And now Sally is stuck with the contents dripping down her front, sticky and cold and a little too revealing for someone who conveniently forgot a bra in her dorm. “Oh, shit, I’m so clumsy. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no need to be embarrassed. I think I have an extra shirt in my car you can borrow.”

Sally looks up at him, eyes wide and naive. “Really?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Thank you!” Sally leans over to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, before wrapping her hands around his bicep and letting him lead her out into the night. “This is so sweet. I don’t know any other guys that would do this for someone.”

“Well I think it’s important to help someone in need,” Bill says. “After all, it would be irresponsible for me to let you walk alone at this time of night. You never know who could be lurking out there.”

“That is so true,” Sally says. “You know, maybe it would be safer if I just came back with you to your dorm.” She bats his eyelashes at him. “You wouldn’t want to leave me in danger, would you?”

Bill grins lazily at her. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve had all night.”

Eddie’s car is just down the street, parked in the empty parking lot of the donut shop. Normally they would use one of the other cars Eddie’s working on for this type of thing, but with summer just around the corner there were no other options. No one was going to give up a car they would need in a week, even if it was in dire need of attention. But Bill’s not that worried. It’s unlikely Sally would recognize the car, even in the daylight.

He unlocks the car with his spare key, the one Eddie had pressed into his hand and told him was only for emergencies, and watches silently as Sally slides into the passenger seat.

“Do you mind if I take my top off?” she asks, popping her lower lip out in a pout. “Just for the drive to your place. I’m starting to feel really sticky.”

“Sure,” Bill says lowly.

He watches with hooded eyes as she slowly peels her top off, pulling it up and over her head before tossing it carelessly into the backseat. When he doesn’t move to start the car, she bites her lip with faux innocence. “Like what you see?”

Bill responds by surging over the center console. One hand goes to her bare chest while the other cups the back of her neck, pulling her into a searing kiss. Sally responds just as eagerly, hands tangling in his hair.

The alcohol in their systems makes the kiss messy, but even so Bill is a little overwhelmed by just how expertly Sally reacts to him. Bill supposes he should have expected it. He knows how much Sally got around in high school. And no one really took an interest in him until a few months ago, so it’s not like he’s had much time to catch up to her level. But, even so, he hadn’t been expecting to be as out of his depth as he is now.

But it doesn’t seem like Sally minds. It almost seems as if she likes how inexperienced Bill is, as if she likes how he’s forced to let her take the lead. Her hands tighten in his hair and she leans closer, closer, closer until they’re pressed chest to chest with Bill’s back flat against the car door. The discomfort is the farthest thing from Bill’s mind. Instead all he can think about is how Sally’s skirt rides up when she clambers into his lap, and how cold her rings are against his skin as she pushes his hands to the sides, and how this seat really isn’t big enough for two people.

Under normal circumstances, having Sally on top of him like this would have been emotionally suffocating. The very thought of just handing over all his control makes Bill’s skin crawl. But it’s not like Sally has any real control in this situation.

So Bill forces his hands to stay at his sides, feeling a little like a ragdoll in Sally’s clutches. Now that he thinks about it, it’s not so different from high school. She’s still pushing him around, still telling him what to do, still looking down on him. The only difference is that now all her touches make his skin feel as if it’s on fire.

He grips the door handle with one hand, the other reaching behind Sally to wrap firmly around the steering wheel. He needs something to steady himself. And judging by the way Sally’s smirk widens, she knows about the effect she’s having on Bill.

She undoes his belt faster than Bill thought humanly possible, fingers flying over the metal with a desperation that would have been funny in any other situation. But before she can start to pull it through the belt loops, there’s a firm knock on the window.

Sally shrieks and buries her face in Bill’s shoulder without so much as glancing at the window. Bill takes the opportunity to wrap one arm firmly around her waist, the other going to the back of his head, gently holding her in place.

“Ya know,” Eddie says as Bill rolls the window down, “when I let you borrow the car, I didn’t say you could fuck our high school bully in the drivers seat.” He leans his forearms at the base of the open window. “I sit there.”

“You’re so overdramatic,” Bill says with a roll of the eyes.

Sally stirs a little, peeking at Eddie out of the corner of her eyes. But then Eddie raises one of his hands in a small wave and Sally dives back into her hiding spot with a pathetic squeak.

“I am not dramatic,” Eddie says coolly. He reaches into his jacket to produce a sharp blade, which he passes to Bill behind Sally’s back. “I just don’t want my car to be all messed up.”

“It won’t be messed up!” Bill insists. “I was gonna clean it.” He slowly unweaves his arm from around Sally’s waist to take the knife from Eddie, positioning it between Sally’s bare shoulder blades, just an inch from the skin.

“Who is this guy?” Sally asks softly. “Tell him to  _ leave _ . I don’t have a shirt on for fuck’s sake.” She stirs again, presumably to get a better look at Eddie, but Bill tightens his grip on the back of her head. “ _ What the fuck? _ ” She shoves her open palms against his chest. “Let go of me!”

Rather than answering, Bill drives the knife straight down. Or, he means to. He hasn’t accounted for how years of gymnastics and cheerleading would build muscle mass. Sally manages to pull away at the last minute, tumbling away from Bill and back into the passenger’s seat. The knife slips, missing its mark, but judging by the animalistic scream Sally lets out and the blood dripping down the blade, it has done some damage.

Sally’s leaning heavily against the door, one hand pressed firmly against her side. Bill can see blood seeping through her fingers. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Where the hell did you get that?”

“See now it’s going to get all dirty,” Eddie pouts. “Do you know how hard it is to get bloodstains out?”

“I’ll clean it!” Bill snaps.

Sally scrambles for the door, popping the lock and literally falling out of the car. She lands with a dull  _ thud _ and a quiet shout. It’s a little sad. Though Bill struggles to find sympathy for her after everything she did to them.

Eddie steps away from the car, allowing Bill to slip out of his seat and walk around the front, stopping just a foot in front of Sally. She lets out a resounding sob when she sees him, which Bill can’t help but find a little amusing. He’s standing there with sex-mused hair and an undone belt. If it weren’t for the knife in his hand he would look ridiculous.

“Stay away from me!” Sally shouts.

She scrambles backwards, feet kicking out wildly in an attempt to connect with Bill’s legs, only for Eddie to come around the back of the car and block her in. The realization makes her freeze. Bill and Eddie on either end, the car on one side, and the donut shop on the other. She’s trapped.

“Who a-are you?” she whimpers. “What do you - What do you ww-want from me-e?”

“Relax,” Eddie drawls. “If you just quiet down, this won’t take long.”

“You won’t get away w-with this,” she says tearfully. “People will - will notice I’m m-mis-missi-ing. People will loo-ook for me!”

Bill rolls his eyes. “Your closest friend doesn't even acknowledge your existence. No one will notice you’re missing until you fail to come home for summer vacation.”

Sally is sobbing in earnest now. Tears and snot run down her face, dripping down her chin and landing in the slowly growing pool of blood she rests in. “Wh-Why are you doing - doing thi-is?”

Bill shrugs. “Payback.”

“I’ve nev-never-er done any-anythi-ing to des-deserve this!” Sally shrieks.

“That’s a ll-luh-lie!” Bill shouts. “You spent ah-all of middle school and high sch-school making our lives hh-hell!”

Sally still looks terrified, but Bill can see something underneath it too. She’s trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, trying to find that one last piece that will make it all make sense. “Stuttering Bill.”

Bill frowns. “I don’t like that nn-nick-nickname.”

“Ho-oly sh-shit-t,” Sally sobs. “You’re fu-ucking insane! All this because - because I ca-alled you some - some nicknames?” Bill takes a step closer to her. Sally recoils into herself. “I’m sorry! I’m so-orry, okay? I - I was a bitch.”

“You kn-know you did ww-wuh-worse than th-that,” Bill seethes.

He kneels down, warm blood soaking into his jeans. Sally kicks violently at him, but Bill catches it easily.

“The more you fight the longer this will take,” Bill says with a heavy sigh, as if dealing with an unruly child. “Just like Eds said.”

“ _ Let go of me! _ ” Sally shrieks. “ _ Help! Somebody help me! _ ” She cuts herself off with a high pitched shriek, pain surging through her as Bill’s knife cuts swiftly through the fatty part of her calf. Eddie swoops in a moment later, muffling her screams with an old T-Shirt. The music from the party covers up the rest.

-

An hour later, per deal, Bill is scrubbing the passenger side door with bleach and disinfectant, while Eddie lounges in the driver’s seat with his feet up on the dash.

“Next time we can’t do this in the car,” he says, frowning at an especially dark stain.

“I never want to do it in the car!” Eddie insists. “You know that! I want to wait until they are out of the car-”

“Okay but sometimes it doesn’t work out that way-”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood out?”  
“ _Yes!_ I’m trying to do it right now!”

Eddie frowns. “You’re not making a very large dent, are ya?”

“I’m working at it!”

Eddie just grins lazily at him and wiggles his sneakers a little. “You know, you’re getting a lot better.”

Bill furrows his eyebrows. “You mean like…” He makes an awkward stabbing motion with his hand.

“No!” Eddie snorts. “I mean, I guess that too. But I meant,” he taps his lips, “your stutter. It’s not as noticeable anymore.”

“Oh, yeah.” Bill ducks his head, hiding the flush that crosses his cheeks from Eddie’s peering eyes. Though, judging by the delighted giggle Eddie lets out, Bill isn’t super successful. “My new speech therapist has been great.”

“Yeah, she seems great,” Eddie says. “Better than the one you were going to in high school.”

Bill huffs. “Nothing helped back then. But that also might have been because of the...you know. The clown.”

Eddie squirms in his seat. “Yeah, sure. I mean - It could have been. For sure.” He falls silent for a moment, watching as Bill continues to scrub at the door. “Do you think It’s dead?”

Bill freezes. “I - I don’t kn-know.”

“I don’t either,” Eddie says quietly. “I don’t want to go back.”

“We’re going back in a week, Eds.”

“That’s not - That’s not what I mean. I don’t mind going back to like - to visit. I just...I don’t want to fight It again. I don’t think I would survive a second time.” He fiddles gently with his earring, worrying it between his thumb and forefinger. “Do you think that’s dumb?”

“No,” Bill murmurs. “I don’t think it’s dumb. But I - Eds, I ww-wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly. “I know.” Slowly, his lips twist back into a grin. “I know you’ve got me, Big Bill.” He moves one of his legs to gently nudge Bill’s shoulder with the tip of his sneakers, only laughing when Bill bats him aside. “I am actually kind of excited to go back home.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm. I wanna see the rest of the Losers. I haven’t really heard from them since we left.”

“They’re probably just busy,” Bill says, because he can’t stand the heartbroken look in Eddie’s eyes. “Next week we’ll be spending all our time with them.”

“God, I can’t wait,” Eddie sighs. “I am so sick of school.”

“ _ Ugh _ , you’re telling me.”

“Oh, please, you’re an english major.”

Bill gapes up at Eddie. “It’s a hard major!” Eddie scoffs. “You’re fucking communications!”

“Only because of my mom!” Eddie huffs. “I would be a nurse-”

“ _ Would be _ and  _ are _ are two different things.”

“Fuck off!”

Bill breaks out into a grin. “I love you, Eds.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Eddie grumbles. “Keep scrubbing. If I find one drop of that shit in my car I’ll kill you next.”

“Ooh, feisty,” Bill smirks. “You know this would be a lot easier if you helped.”

“That wasn’t the deal!” Eddie squawks. “You said you needed the car, and you promised to clean it out yourself!”

“Alright, alright!”

Eddie slumps back in his seat, a heavyset frown on his face. He eyes Bill silently. Then, in an almost inaudible grumble, “I love you too.”

Bill’s grin widens, but he doesn’t look up from his scrubbing. “I think you would be a good nurse,” he says. “You’ve always been good with that stuff. Remember how you fixed up Ben after Bowers sliced him up?”

Eddie’s frown deepens. “Yeah. I remember.”

A shudder goes down his spine at the mention of their old bully. Not because the act of fixing Ben’s bloodied stomach particularly disgusted him - he had always been fascinated with how the body worked and fixing up his friends only gave him a personal chance to study it. But because a part of him couldn’t help but entertain the fact that maybe he wasn’t so different from Bowers himself anymore.

He pushes that thought away. What Henry Bowers did and what Bill and himself are doing are wildly different. Henry hurt people because he wanted to. He liked it. It was a game for him, toying with his victims until he broke them.

The people who Bill and Eddie dispose of, they’re bad people. They deserve everything that’s coming to them.

He studies Bill nervously. He can see the way his muscles move and flow beneath his T-Shirt as he scrubs. He can see the way his jaw clenches and the way his eyebrows furrow as he tries to concentrate. Eddie doubts he’s even noticed he’s watching him.

He meant it, when he said he loved him. He gives him shit - he gives him a lot of shit - but he does love him. Sometimes he worries Bill’s the only person he’s ever really loved, and ever really will love.

He’s experienced infatuation and crushes plenty of times. But he’s never known anyone who he’s trusted so fully.

He hadn’t even blinked when Bill had come to him that first time, hands bloodied and eyes wide with shock. He had practically jumped at the chance to help him hide the body.

The thought terrifies him.

But he trusts Bill. He loves him. Eddie’s been hurt enough to know that love is a precious resource. You don’t hand it out to just anyone. But he loves Bill, completely and without question. So he knows he wouldn’t lead him down the wrong path. He knows that somehow - even if the law would never see it that way - Bill is right.

-

A week later Stanley Uris is in Al’s Diner, a place he frequented often as a teenager. Only now he’s on the other side, an apron tied around his waist and the staff T-Shirt pulled over his head. It’s an easy enough gig. Even in the summer it’s rarely ever crowded. Plus, he gets to work with his best friend. That’s always a good bonus, right?

Although, if he were to be honest, he had completely forgotten Richie Tozier existed until last Friday.

He doesn’t know how. Him and Richie had been glued at the hip since they were children, nearly every interesting story he has involves Richie in some way. There’s no logical way he could forget him.

And yet…

It was as if someone had stolen those memories straight out of his head.

He hadn’t realized how fuzzy things were until he had seen Richie again, and it all came flowing back. Like finally getting a good home cooked meal after only eating takeout for weeks on end.

Richie bumps him with his hip as he passes. “Wake up, Uris. We have a job to do.”

Stan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m keeping an eye on the customers. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, I don’t care about them,” Richie says with a dramatic flourish of his wrist. “I just don’t want you zoning out on me. You think I can do this job by myself? C’mon now.”

“I’m sure you would be fine without me, Rich,” Stan says, a little chuckle escaping his lips. “You lasted a whole year without me.”

“Yeah, and it was fucking awful,” Richie scoffs. But there’s something sparking in his eyes. It’s the same look he got when he lied to his father about why his jacket smelled so strongly of weed. Or when he lied to Beverly about not being upset that she hadn’t written to them after she moved away. Stan suspects Richie had forgotten about him just as much as he had forgotten about Richie.

But Stan doesn’t tell him any of that. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he says instead. “How is LA anyway?”

Richie’s eyes light up, like a kid who's just been told his mother will buy him all the candy he wants. “It’s great! I’ve been going to the comedy clubs out there. I think people really like me.”

“Hey, that’s great,” Stan says, a smile tugging on his lips. “I’ll have to come out and visit you sometime.”

“You should!” Richie grins. “How’s New York?”

Stan shrugs. “It’s nice. I like being out of a small town.”

“Yeah, me too,” Richie says softly.

The bell above the entrance jingles quietly. It’s followed by the chattering of voices. They’re distantly familiar in Stan’s brain, like a half-forgotten child tugging on the pant leg of a distracted parent. He can feel himself trying to rifle through his various memories, trying to match the voices with the correct faces. But it’s all too blurry.

“I’ll get that,” Stan offers, grabbing for his pen and pad. “Can you get table three more coffee?”

Richie sends him a two fingered salute. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

The new customers are sitting in a booth in the far corner, one on either side. Stan can’t help but feel a pang of distaste at the sight of them. That had been the booth he always sat at with his friends when they were teenagers, and he supposes he still feels a tad territorial over it.

A part of him wonders if he even deserves to feel that way when he can’t remember any of his friends’ names.

“Evening,” he grins charmingly, “welcome to Al’s Diner. Can I get you two anything to start? Coffee?”

The smaller of the two snorts out a laugh, hiding it behind his hand. It makes Stan falter. Does he have something in his teeth? Or is this going to be some high school bullshit again? Where his mere presence is a joke?

Then, “Hi, Stan,” he says. His laughter has tapered off a quiet giggle by now, and his fingers curl away from his lips, allowing his chin to rest on his palm.

Stan suddenly feels as if the world is moving very slowly. The tugging in the back of his mind gets sharper. The answer is  _ right there _ . Right on the tip of his tongue. He just can’t grasp it.

Then it hits him.

He fears he might topple over with the force of it, and yet he can’t seem to get his legs to unlock.

“You look different,” is all he can think to say.

Eddie laughs again, but it’s bigger this time, more open. The sound makes Stan relax a little. “We didn’t know you would be here.”

“We?” In his haste, he had completely forgotten about the person Eddie had entered with. He turns, feeling as if he isn’t in control of his legs. Feeling as if he’s one of those spinning ballerinas in an old fashioned music box. He doesn't know if he should laugh or cry. “Bill.”

Bill grins widely at him. His eyes sparkle as he does, and for a moment Stan thinks he hasn’t aged a day since he last saw him. “It’s nice to see you again, Stan.”

“Yeah, you too,” Stan says lamely. “I didn’t know you guys were coming down.”

“We just drove down from Portland,” Bill says.

Eddie scoffs. “We? I drove the whole way.” He jabs his thumb in Bill’s direction. “This fucker still doesn’t have his license. I’m like his personal chauffeur.”

“That’s not true!” Bill insists, looking genuinely offended. “I ride my bike most places!”

“I need coffee before I see my mom,” Eddie says instead of answering him. “I’ll beg you on my knees for it.”

Stan laughs softly. “You don’t have to do that. Cash alone will do the trick.” He sends Eddie a wink, which only makes him laugh all over again. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Eggs and toast?” Bill asks. “I’m starving.”

“Oh, yeah, that sounds good,” Eddie says. “Can I have that too?”

Stan nods a little, half distracted as he scribbles away on his notepad. “Sure thing. Your order should be ready shortly.”

He’s just turned his back on the two of them, when Bill suddenly stops him. “Stan?”

Stan turns slowly, half frightened of what he might find. “Hm?”

“When are you off?” Bill’s looking at him with a small, almost shy, smile. It makes him feel shaky in the knees. Just how it did when they were kids. He supposes the city didn’t do him much help after all.

“Twelve,” he says. “Rich and I have the morning shift today.”

Eddie cocks his head curiously. “Richie’s here?”

Stan nods. “I can get him for you if you like.”

“Yeah!” Eddie chirps, eyes lighting up. “I would love that!”

“Alright,” Stan grins. “I’ll send him over.”

He finds Richie behind the counter, waiting patiently as the coffee pot refills itself. He hums quietly to himself as he does. It’s not anything Stan recognizes, or maybe Richie’s just so tone deaf that it’s impossible for him to sing anything recognizable. But it’s weirdly comforting at the same time.

“Bill and Eddie are here,” he blurts out before he can stop himself.

Richie freezes. Eyebrows furrow. Stan thinks he can see  _ who? _ forming on his lips. But what comes out instead is, “Really?” Stan nods. “I didn’t know anyone else was coming down.”

“They’re in the booth near the back,” Stan says. “Our usual spot. They wanna see you.”

Richie flashes Stan his show-biz grin. “Well it would be rude to keep them waiting.” The coffee finally slows to a stop, and Richie snatches it off the machine. “They order coffee?” Stan nods again. A moment later, Richie disappears around the counter. Stan can hear him, even from across the diner, greeting their friends with his Butler voice. It’s almost good now, which is a strange thing to think about. Richie’s voices had never been good before. They had never even been  _ almost _ good.

But as odd as it is, Stan still finds it warms his heart.

New York is fun. And he meant it when he said he was glad to be away from a small town. But it’s nice to have his friends back.

-

Once they’ve finished their breakfast - and have made Stan and Richie promise to call them as soon as their shift is over - Eddie drives him and Bill to his mom’s place. He’s been dreading it all week.

College was a breath of fresh air. Even if she did call him twice a day - not that he always picked up (he fears that might make him a bad son) - she’s not breathing down his neck anymore. He doesn’t have to beg her approval every time he wants to stay out later than nine o’clock.

Getting used to her overbearing ways all over again is going to be painful.

“It might not be all bad,” Bill says. “At least we don’t have to worry about cafeteria food anymore.”

Eddie snorts. “You say that as if my mother ever bothered learning how to cook. Beyond the basics, of course.”

“What qualifies as the basics?” Bill asks through a grin.

“Let’s just put it this way. She one time asked me how to fry an egg.”

“How to fry an egg?”

Eddie nods. “But she knows how to boil them.”

Bill makes a soft  _ ‘ah’ _ sound. “So that’s why you ate hard boiled eggs every day in elementary school.”

“Yeah, and if I ever have to see another one again I’m going to kill myself.”

“But if it’s fried, that’s okay?”

“Yeah, that’s okay. I’ll only contemplate suicide for a second. Then I’ll be good again.”

But even Bill doesn’t offer much solace, and by the time he pulls into his mother’s driveway, he’s sure his stomach has turned into a lead ball.

“Hey,” Bill says, voice soft, “you’ll be fine. It’s just a few months. And if you really hate it you can come stay at my place.”

“You don’t understand, I’m actually considering taking you up on that offer.”

“God, please do,” Bill huffs. “It’s not like living with my parents again is gonna be a blast either.”

“At least they won’t make you watch soap operas with them,” Eddie grumbles. And something about that punches a full bellied laugh out of Bill. The thought of Eddie sitting slumped over on the couch, eyes vacant and far away, as a soap opera plays on the television set is somehow the funniest thing Bill can picture. “ _ Shut up! _ God you’re - you’re the fucking worst!”

Eddie hops out of the car, slamming it behind him. Bill follows him a moment later, a shit eating grin still on his face. But when they reach the front door, he still stops and turns to Bill with a deadly serious look in his eye.

“Hey,” he says. “Thanks for coming with me. To settle back in.”

“Yeah, of course,” Bill says with a little smile. “I wouldn’t want to make you face the beast that is Sonia Kaspbrak on your own.”

Eddie smiles shakily. He doesn’t always show it well, but he does appreciate Bill. But he thinks Bill knows. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.

He’s barely opened the door when the voice of Sonia Kaspbrak comes floating out. “Eddie? Eddie-bear? Is that you?”

Eddie sighs. “Yeah, it’s me, ma.”

“Come in here!”

Eddie follows her instructions without a second thought, his feet pattering across the floor as he moves to greet her. She’s sitting in her usual armchair, feet kicked up and television blaring.

“Hi, mama,” he says, leaning over to kiss her cheek. He feels twelve again all of the sudden. As if all the work he had put in this year to be more independent hadn’t happened at all. As if he’s still that scared, sickly kid living under his mother’s thumb.

“Eddie-bear, are you feeling alright?” Sonia fusses. “You’re late. I was getting worried.”

“We just stopped for breakfast, it was no big deal,” Eddie says. “Bill’s here. He’s gonna help me unpack.”

But Sonia isn’t listening. Instead her frown has deepened, and the disapproving glint in her eye has returned from Eddie’s childhood. “What’s that?”

“What?”

“ _ That _ .” Sonia jabs a finger at his ear.

Eddie’s hand comes up to join hers, fingers moving to hide the glint of silver. It had seemed cool at the time, but now all he can think is how irresponsible it had been. “It’s just an earring, mama.”

“Those things get infected, Eddie-bear.”

“I make sure to keep it clean.”

“It’s basically an open puncture wound!” Sonia wails. “Don’t you know how dangerous that is?”

“You have your ears pierced,” Eddie murmurs halfheartedly.

Sonia gapes at him. “That’s different. You’re a  _ boy _ , Eddie. People will think you’re queer.”

The words cut deep, but Eddie does his best not to show it. Weakness has never convinced his mother to show mercy. Oftentimes it only makes her double down.

“I’m gonna go unpack,” he says.

He leaves before she can argue. To his relief, she doesn’t call after him.

Bill’s already in his bedroom, folding the clothes that had previously been in Eddie’s suitcase and placing them in a little pile on his childhood bed. He looks up when Eddie enters. Immediately, sympathy coats his features and his actions still.

“You alright?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You can come over to my place for dinner, if you want,” Bill offers. “My folks won’t mind.”

“Thanks,” Eddie mutters. “But I - I should stay. Ma will be mad if I leave right away, ya know?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bill frowns. “I - Sorry - I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s fine.”

Bill quickly busies himself with folding Eddie’s shirts. Eddie scoops them up into his arms, returning them to their respective drawers.

“It is sort of weird being back,” he says softly. “We spent so long dreaming about getting out. And once we get that we just...come back.”

“But it’s not like we’re back for good,” Bill reasons. “It’s just for the summer.”

“I always hated summer in Derry,” Eddie mumbles, and Bill doesn’t need to ask to know that he’s thinking about that summer back in ‘89.

“This isn’t like that,” Bill says firmly. “We’re just - We’re just visitors.”

Eddie shoves his hands in his pockets in an attempt to stop them from shaking. “Right.”

“Greta’s coming home for summer break too,” Bill says suddenly. “Sally said so. I think maybe we go after her next.”

“Alright,” Eddie says casually. “Do we know when she gets in?” Bill shakes his head. “We’ll just keep an eye out, then.”

“I’m sure it won’t be too much longer,” Bill shrugs. “I mean, her school must be dying to get rid of her.”

Eddie snorts. “God, who wouldn’t be?”

It’s times like these where Eddie thinks maybe what they’re doing isn’t really  _ murder _ . Greta’s a bad person. They’re doing the world a favor, really. It’s not like anyone  _ wants _ her around.

Besides, murder is such a harsh word. Who wants to be associated with that?

“Hey, you don’t mind dropping me off at home later today, do you?” Bill asks suddenly.

“No, I don’t mind.”

“Cool. I don’t really need to be there until tonight, so we don’t need to worry about it for awhile.”

“Alright,” Eddie says. He crosses the room, leaving the top drawer of his dresser hanging wide open, and flops down next to Bill. He shuffles around until he can get a good look at him, even though he’s upside down. “Who else do you think is coming in? Like - Not like - Like out of our friends.”

Bill stops. “I - I don’t know. I mean I - I haven’t heard from them in awhile, either. I wasn’t expecting to run into Stan and Richie so quickly.”

Eddie hums quietly. “I’m kind of glad we ran into them, though. It’ll be nice catching up again. Besides, I think Richie’s kind of cute in his uniform.”

Bill snorts. “Of course you do.”

“Oh, c’mon, you know I’m right!”

“It’s just an apron and T-Shirt, Eds,” Bill says in amusement.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, voice soft, “but it looks nice on him.”

Bill’s own features soften, and he finds himself looking down at Eddie with a smile on his lips. He has always thought it was sweet when Eddie pines for Richie. Eddie’s usually so full fire and fury, he’s like a chihuahua in a human’s body. It’s nice to see him reax for once.

And he thinks Richie would be good for him. Richie likes to talk a big game, but between him and Eddie, he’s always been the more level headed one. Sure, he’s more likely to drag out a joke just to get a rise out of someone, but he’s the one who sat down and studied every night. He’s the one who thought of the long haul. Who was thinking about college way back in freshman year, planning out which classes he would need to take in order to get in somewhere good.

Eddie’s like a feral cat. Only thinking in the moment, and reacting to every little problem by trying to hiss and scratch at it until it’s forced to retreat.

“Well, maybe you can tell him that,” he says. “We’re gonna see them soon, right?”

Eddie’s eyes widen. “I can’t tell him that. Are you insane?”

Bill shrugs. “You only have three months with him, you might as well get a headstart.”

Eddie ponders this for a moment. Bill can see the cogs turning in his head, like he’s trying to put together the last piece of a puzzle. Finally, he mumbles out a halfhearted, “Maybe. I’ll see if I’m up for it later or whatever.”

“Yeah, sure, that sounds like a plan,” Bill says. He finally lays back on the bed himself, letting his head rest opposite Eddie’s. “Do you ever wish It hadn’t killed Henry’s gang?”

“What? No,” Eddie says. “Why the hell would I want those assholes to still be walking around?”

“I dunno,” Bill says. “I know they got what was coming to them, but sometimes I wish I could have been the one to dd-do it.”

Eddie’s quiet for a moment. It’s thick and palpable, and Bill has the oddest feeling he should be uncomfortable. And yet he continues to lay completely still, content with his ways in the world.

“I don’t think so,” Eddie whispers. “I don’t think we would have been any match for Patrick Hockstetter.”

“Oh, no way,” Bill scoffs. “We could take him now. The two of us combined could easily take him down.”

Eddie’s not so sure that’s true. But he shrugs and says, “I guess,” because there’s no point in arguing with Bill over hypotheticals. “But it doesn’t really matter, ya know. Because - Because the whole reason we’re doing this is just to make things right. Not to like - like get pleasure from it or something, right? So what does it matter if the clown got to them first.”

“Right,” Bill says. “Of course.”

-

By twelve, Eddie and Bill only barely manage to escape Sonia Kaspbrak’s grasp. She cries and grovels and begs, but Eddie still manages to get his way in the end. He promises to be back by dinner time, and slips out the front door with Bill hot on his heels.

Richie and Stan are waiting for them at the outskirts of the Barrens, lounging in the front seats of Wentworth Toziers car. Bill can see Stan’s face through the windows. His eyes light up at the sight of Eddie’s car and, immediately, he hops out of the passenger seat. The thought makes Bill’s heart squeeze, as if he can think of nothing better than being the reason Stan Uris smiles.

“You made it,” Stan grins, leaning back against the hood of Went’s car. Bill slips out of the passenger seat, wasting no time in closing the gap between them and hopping up beside Stan. “We were worried we were gonna have to send out a search party for you.”

“Yeah, or that you had forgotten us,” Richie grins teasingly.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck off.” Eddie gives Richie a little shove, which only succeeds in making Richie’s laughter double down. “We had to get past my mother first.”

Richie makes a soft  _ ‘ah’ _ sound. “The great Sonia Kaspbrak.”

“She was just about ready to tie Eddie down,” Bill chuckles.

“Awe, what would we have done without Eddie Spaghetti?” Richie reaches over to pinch Eddie’s cheek. Eddie quickly bats his hand away, his eyebrows pinching in fury.

“Stop that, Richie,” he snaps. “It’s not funny.”

“It is a little funny.”

“Fuck you, no it’s not.”

Stan laughs softly, and when he talks he’s only talking to Bill. The thought makes Bill’s heart patter in his chest. “I’ve missed this. Even these two assholes,” he nods towards Eddie and Richie. “I never thought I would  _ miss _ seeing them fight.”

“I know,” Bill smiles. “Did you and Richie keep in touch?”

“We - Well - I mean-” Stan ducks his head, hiding his pink dusted cheeks from Bill. “We were both really busy. So we didn’t - There weren’t a lot of chances to talk to each other.”

Bill hums quietly. “I guess it would be hard to keep in contact on the opposite sides of the country.”

“Yeah,” Stan murmurs. “What about you and Eddie?”

Bill gives him an amused smile. “We go to school together.”

“Right. I - Right. I knew that.”

Bill’s smile widens, and the pink on Stan’s cheeks deepens into a dark red. “We spend just about every day together. It was sort of nice, ya know. To have someone I knew at school.”

“I would imagine that would be nice,” Stan says softly. “I sort of wish I had that.”

Bill’s smile flickers away. It’s replaced instead by a wave of concern, which sort of makes Stan wish he hadn’t said anything at all. “Didn’t you make new friends?”

“Yeah, sure,” Stan says. “But it’s - it’s not the same. Whatever friends I make won’t be the same as you guys.”

Bill doesn’t say anything in response to that. Stan thinks it’s because he understands, and there’s nothing that can really be said to comfort him. Whatever bond the Losers have formed is special. Stan doubts he’s ever going to find another friend group that will fill that same void in his heart. But maybe that’s okay, if a little sad.

The moment is broken by Eddie, who storms over with his nose pinched in frustration and a half finished flower crown woven into his hair.

“Very fashionable, Eddie,” Stan says.

“Thank you,” Eddie says flatly. “Did you know Richie does stand up now?”

Stan’s lips quirk in amusement. “Yes.”

“But he’s not even funny!”

“Hey! People think I’m funny!” Richie insists. “I’ve gotten some big laughs.”

Eddie frowns at him. “Oh yeah? Tell us a joke.”

Richie splutters. “I can’t just think of a joke on the spot-”

“Because you’re not funny.”

“Awe, c’mon,” Stan says. “Richie can be funny sometimes.”

“Like when?” Eddie asks, fixing his stare on Stan.

Stan shrugs. “Yesterday he stubbed his toe. That was pretty funny.”

A delighted look crosses Eddie’s face. In the same moment, Richie lets out an indignant squawk. “Alright, yeah, that is kinda funny.”

“This is straight up bullying,” Richie huffs. “You guys just don’t understand the art.”

“Do they pay you for that?” Bill asks curiously. “Stand up?”

“No,” Richie admits. “It’s just for fun. But I’ve had some people come up to me and tell me that they think I  _ could _ make money off it!”

“Really?” Eddie grins. “That’s great, Rich!”

“Yeah, that’s amazing,” Bill agrees.

Richie shrugs. He looks almost bashful. As if, for once, he can’t stand being the center of attention. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool. What about you guys?”

“My mom won’t let me get a job,” Eddie frowns. “She doesn’t think I’m ready. She sends me money every month, which I guess is nice. But I make some extra cash fixing up the other students’ cars.”

“Really?” Richie’s eyes widen, only enlarged further by his thick glasses. “That’s really cool.”

“Yeah, you would be surprised by how many college students don’t understand their own cars,” Eddie says with a laugh.

“I don’t understand my car,” Stan says. “It just takes me from place to place, I don’t need to know what happens under the hood.”

“Yeah, me either,” Richie admits. “But that’s alright. We have Eddie Spaghetti to fix it up if anything happens to it.” He throws his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, which only succeeds in getting Eddie wound up enough to shove him harshly in the chest. Caught off guard, Richie topples backwards until he’s landed on his ass in the grass. But he’s laughing, and Bill can see the glee in his eyes.

“You know I hate it when you call me that.” But Eddie’s laughing too.

-

It’s dark by the time Eddie drops Bill off at his parents house.

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Eddie asks, eyeing him warily. Both of their good moods had since vanished, replaced instead by the vastly heavy feeling of having to go home.

“I’m alright,” Bill promises. “You should be getting home, anyway. Your mother is going to have a heart attack.”

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie says, but it doesn’t sound like he has it in him to care. “It is what it is.”

Bill chuckles quietly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Eds.”

He can feel Eddie watching him as he leaves. He had always waited until his friends were inside before leaving, even when he had first gotten his license. He’s never said why, but Bill has his suspicions. They have always been most vulnerable when alone, even if they were in front of their own house. That’s when Bowers and his gang would jump them. The bullies themselves are long gone, but the effect they had on the Losers Club will be there forever.

The inside of the house is just as dark as the outside.

Bill can feel his heart sink at the realization.

He doesn’t know what he had been expecting. Not any big celebration by any means. But he had at least expected his parents to be awake. It would have been nice to come home to find them waiting up for him, even if they had given him an earful about coming home late.

But Bill supposes it  _ is _ late. He can’t fault them for wanting to get some shut eye.

He tries to step quietly as he makes his way into the kitchen and starts to dig through the fridge for leftovers he could heat up.

-

By some miracle, Bill finds himself awake before his parents. Maybe it’s because it’s the weekend or maybe it’s because they’re hoping to avoid seeing their son altogether. But whatever the reason, Bill finds himself sitting at the kitchen counter, munching on a bowl of cereal and, once again, alone.

It’s a sort of miserable way to start the morning, but Bill tries not to focus on that. It  _ is _ the weekend, after all. They’re the only two days his parents don’t have to worry about going into work. Bill’s sure they just want to catch up on some rest. The second option is just plain ridiculous. Right?

He’s halfway through his second bowl of cereal when Zach Denbrough comes meandering down the stairs. He seems genuinely confused to see Bill, face pinched in that same way it gets when he just can’t remember the answer to a rather complicated question. This look stays on his face as he pours himself a glass of orange juice and sits down with that morning’s paper.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at school?” he finally says.

“It’s ss-suh-sum-summer vv-vacation,” Bill curses himself for tripping up. Why now? He had been excited to finally,  _ finally _ talk to his parents without having to worry about his own tongue betraying him. Only to fuck that up too.

“Oh, I see.” The confused look on Zach’s face only increases tenfold.

“I called you and told you I was coming down,” Bill says. He manages to get the sentence out in one try, and his chest swells. But if Zach notices, he doesn’t mention it.

“I thought that was next week,” he says instead. “You said next week.”

“Yes,” Bill says slowly. “I said that last week.”

“Oh.” For a moment the confused look only gets worse. Then it smooths itself out. “Time flies, I guess.”

He opens up the newspaper, and the conversation is over.

-

Luckily, Bill doesn’t have to wait long before Eddie’s car is in the driveway. He leaves without a goodbye, and his father doesn’t call after him. They don’t talk during the drive. Bill’s sure Eddie knows something is wrong. He wouldn’t be so quiet if he didn’t know.

The first time Eddie speaks is when they re-enter Al’s Diner to find a familiar face in the back booth. “Mike!” Bill has hardly registered the name by the time Eddie is at Mike’s side, arms wrapped around him in a suffocating embrace. But Mike is grinning. So Bill supposes he must not mind too much.

“Hey, Eds,” Mike says. “I’ve missed you.”

“Did you just get home?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, last night. Hi, Bill.”

Bill musters up a smile as he slides into the booth opposite them. “Hi.”

Somehow, seeing Mike solidifies the idea that they’ve come home. There’s a warm twinkle in his eyes that thaws Bill from the inside out. The town which had seemed so empty and barren only last night is suddenly crawling with life. He can remember what they loved about this place as kids. The diner, the barrens, the clubhouse. God, he had forgotten about the clubhouse.

A glass of orange juice is placed on the table. When Bill looks up, Stan Uris is grinning down at him.

“You’re back,” he says. Not  _ you _ as in  _ all of you _ . But  _ you _ as in  _ Bill _ . Not Eddie and Mike and Bill. Just Bill. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’ll take some orange juice too,” Bill says. He tries to match Stan’s grin, and hopes Stan can recognize just how happy he is to see him. But the moment is ruined by Eddie.

“Can I have a glass of milk?”

Bill quirks an eyebrow and, perhaps with more cruelty than Eddie deserves, says, “What are you? A baby?”

Eddie scrunches up his face. “I’ll let you know that milk is very nutritious.”

“The way they take the milk from the cows is usually very cruel,” Mike says, his tone strangely good natured for someone discussing cow cruelty.

“Fuck! Fine! I’ll have orange juice too!” Eddie says. “Happy now?”

Stan watches the exchange silently. “I can get you milk, Eddie.”

“No!” Eddie shouts, throwing his hands in the air. “I can’t drink milk! I’ve been shamed out of milk! Fuck milk!”

“Alright,” Stan says, looking troubled. “I’ll get you orange juice.”

Only once he’s gone does Mike speak up again. “You could have gotten milk. I wasn’t trying to shame you or anything.”

He sounds genuinely sorry, and it sends a wave of shame through Bill. It’s not Eddie’s fault. He couldn’t have possibly known what he was interrupting.

“It was just a joke, Eds,” he says. “No need to get so wound up.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Eddie slumps down in his seat, eyes glued to the beat up table. “It’s fine. It might-” He sighs heavily, “It might just be my mom getting to me. She keeps throwing all these nutrition facts at me. Half of which are probably wrong anyway. She reads them in those gossip magazines. Anyway, it’s BS because she never tries to actually follow them. The healthiest thing she makes are those pre-made salads. You know the ones in the plastic bags? God, maybe I should have asked for a coffee again. But apparently coffee can, like, stunt your growth or something.”

“Yeah, well, you’re already pretty short, Eds,” Bill says, and this time he makes an effort to make sure Eddie knows he’s actually joking.

Mike cracks a smile. “Yeah, it might not even matter.”

“Oh, fuck off!”

Stan arrives before Bill has a chance to respond, Richie hot on his heels. He places the orange juices on the table - which Eddie regards with mild contempt - and smiles sweetly. “Can I get you guys anything else?”

“You could sit with us for a bit?” Bill suggests. He finds himself eager for Stan’s company, desperate for anything he can get. They only have three months together. Might as well make the best of every moment.

“I don’t know,” Stan says. “We’re working right now.”

“C’mon, Stanny,” Richie grins. “There’s no one else here. We can chat for a bit.”

“I mean, I guess.”

Richie slides in next to Bill, which Bill has to admit he finds a little disappointing. He hadn’t meant  _ you _ as in  _ both of you _ . He had meant  _ you _ as in  _ Stan _ . Not Stan and Richie. Just Stan. But he supposes it’s fine. He likes Richie. Besides, Stan doesn’t even sit. He leans against the booth instead, lower lip trapped between his teeth.

Ever since they were kids, Stan’s lips have been red and bitten. Whenever something makes Stan nervous - and a lot of things make Stan nervous - his first instinct has always been to bite his lip. It makes Bill more than a little crazy. He’s spent more time than he would like to admit staring at Stan’s lips, wondering what it would be like to have them between his own teeth. To be the reason they look consistently raw.

“Mike, you go to University of Maine, right?” Richie asks. “How are you liking it?”

“I like it a lot,” Mike says. “It’s nice. And it’s close enough that the whole Pennywise curse thing doesn’t affect me as much. I mean, it does a little. But not nearly as much. So that’s nice too.”

Richie blinks at him. “I’m sorry. The  _ what _ ?”

“There’s a curse?” Stan asks. His voice is strained, and he looks like he’s about to pass out. “You mean we haven’t dealt with enough bullshit already?”

“We talked about it before you left,” Mike says. “Maybe you guys haven’t gotten that memory back yet. I don’t really know how it works exactly yet. But I’m working on it-”  
“Mike!” Stan snaps. “What _is_ it?”

“Right, sorry.” Mike flushes. “It’s the reason you guys couldn’t remember Derry when you were away at school. It made us forget everything, so we wouldn’t pose a threat to It while we were gone. That was why Bev and Ben never wrote to us when they moved away.”

“I remembered Derry,” Stan says weakly. “So-” But he stops himself short. Had he really  _ remembered _ Derry? He knew it’s where he grew up, but it’s true he struggled to recall specific instances. Hell, he didn’t remember Richie until a few days ago. His best friend since diapers. It was like he had completely vanished from the Earth. Like someone had reached one clawed hand deep inside his brain and plucked Richie right out. “What happens when we leave again? We just...forget? Again?”

“We already talked about this?” Richie asks. For once, there isn’t a hint of comedy in his voice. He sounds completely serious. Almost scared.

Mike nods. “I’m sorry.”

“What about you two?” Stan rounds on Bill and Eddie. He gestures wildly between them with his pen. “Did you guys forget?”

Bill looks over at Eddie, only to find Eddie’s eyes already on him. Something about that makes him shudder.

“Ss-Some things,” he admits. “But not eh-eh-ev-verything.”

“We weren’t very far,” Eddie says. “And we had each other.”

It’s true, Bill has always remembered better with Eddie beside him. Without him, the whole Pennywise incident feels like a bad dream. But Eddie solidifies everything. He’s his one last hold on reality, and he doesn’t think it’s too far off to assume he’s the same for Eddie.

Stan takes a deep breath. “Right.”

“Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse.” Richie barks out a laugh. The sound is dry and hollow, lacking all the usual warmth.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Eddie’s voice is surprisingly soft. “I mean, we’re all in it together, right?” He reaches across the table to squeeze one of Richie’s hands. For a moment Richie can only stare at it - the sight of Eddie’s hand clasped on top of his - and then he jerks his own hand back, letting it fall to his lap.

Eddie does a good job of covering up the hurt that flashes across his face. But for a moment Bill can see it clear as day: A dark, cruel look that seems to rip across his face.

Richie doesn’t notice. Too busy scanning the diner to make sure there’s no one else who could catch him in the act.

“But we’re not,” Stan says. He stares down at his shoes as he says it, unable to bear looking any of them in the eye. “If we - If we forget each other, how are we in it together? We’ll be  _ alone _ .”

Stan has always been fragile. He toughened up as they got older, doing a better job of masking his emotions to anyone outside the group. He took verbal and physical abuse for years, facing it all with a stony face. But Bill has seen him in his weakest moments. He’s seen him curled up in a corner of the clubhouse, shoulders wracked with sobs and cheeks ruddy. Bill has been the one to hold him through it more times than he can count.

This time it’s Richie who jumps to his feet, pulling Stan close to his side and whispering into his ear. It boils Bill’s blood to see. That’s  _ his _ place.

“It’s alright, Stan,” Mike says. “We’re together now, aren’t we?”

Stan nods. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you don’t need to apologize.” Mike offers him a warm smile, the kind that would be a crime not to return. So Stan finds it in himself to muster up his own sort of smile. It’s not much, but it’s enough.

The bell attached to the top of the entrance jingles softly, and the sound of chattering voices follows a moment later.

“I’ll get that,” Richie says. He gives Stan one last squeeze before heading off to greet the new patrons.

Bill takes the opportunity to gesture Stan over. He slides into Richie’s empty spot and, without thinking, rests his head on Bill’s shoulder. It feels just like old times. When they would sit on the dirty floor of the clubhouse, tears still drying on Stan’s face, as they cuddled together until Stan returned to his normal self.

“We wouldn’t ever leave you, Stan,” Bill murmurs. “Even if we don’t remember each other, I think we’ll find our way back to each other.”

Stan looks up at him, and Bill can see the familiar shiny look in Stan’s eyes. “Promise?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Under the table, Stan’s fingers intertwine with his. Bill gives his hand a gentle squeeze. He can feel Stan relax against him as he does, and whatever leftover fury Bill feels is washed away.

“What was it like?” Eddie asks. “Not remembering?”

Eddie’s voice shakes as he speaks, like he isn’t really sure he wants to hear the answer. But he doesn’t take it back. Even when Stan doesn’t answer right away, he doesn’t take it back. He can’t. He doesn’t want to know, but a part of him thinks he needs to know.

“It was only scary once I remembered again,” Stan whispers. “But before that it was like - I dunno - white noise. It felt so familiar, as if it had always been there. I never even questioned why I couldn’t remember my childhood. In fact I - I don’t even know if I knew I had forgotten. I didn’t know there was anything else to remember.”

Eddie looks helplessly at Mike. “You’re sure there’s nothing we can do to break the curse now?”

“I’m doing the best I can to learn about it,” Mike says. “But it’s not exactly something I can just look up at the library.”

“Right.” Eddie sips delicately in his orange juice. Immediately, his nose scrunches up and his lips purse. “Stan, does your orange juice have pulp in it?”

“Well it’s not  _ my _ orange juice.”

“But it has pulp in it?”

“Yeah, sure. Why?”

Eddie gapes at him, the horror on his face doubling. “Pulp is disgusting!”

“Disgusting is a strong word,” Stan says. But he doesn’t seem to mind Eddie’s little outburst. There’s finally a smile dancing on his lips again.

“Yeah, well, it’s true.”

“You want me to get you a spoon to fish it out?”

“No, what the fuck?”

Stan bursts out laughing at that, and a moment later the creases in Eddie’s face fade away. He watches Stan in amusement as he takes another sip of the orange juice.

“Guys,” Richie’s voice, low and hushed, cuts through Stan’s laughter, “look who it is.”

Bill turns to look. Greta Bowie is sitting a few tables down, curls tied into a high ponytail and lips smeared with a gastly bright red lipstick. Across from her is, Bill suspects, Marcia Fadden, though it’s hard to tell from the back. Eddie nudges him under the table.

“Did you hear what happened to Sally Mueller?” Stan asks suddenly.

“Yeah,” Mike says. “It’s sad.”

Richie nods. “My folks told me when I first got home. They were convinced it was the same person who did the murders back in ‘89. I mean, obviously that’s not true. But they don’t know that. They were really freaked out.”

“I wonder how she’s holding up,” Mike says. “Both of them, actually. The three of them were attached at the hip all throughout school. I mean - God - I can’t imagine what I would do if something like that happened to one of you.”

Stan leans a little closer to Bill. Close enough that Bill can feel the gooseflesh prickling up Stan’s exposed arm and hear the shudder of his breath.

“But that - that was all the way up in Portland,” he mutters. “You don’t really think the killer - whoever it was - would come down here, do you?”

Bill catches Eddie’s eye across the table. He looks stiff as a board, hands wrapped around the glass tight enough to shatter it.

“No,” Bill finally says. “I don’t think so. Why would they come to a little place like Derry?”

Stan gives him a shaky smile. “I guess that’s a good point.” He peels himself away from Bill’s side and slides out of the booth. “We should probably get back to work.”  
“There’s only one other table,” Richie says. “If you wanna stay-”

Stan shakes his head. “I should get back. But we should all hang out again tonight.”

“We can’t,” Bill says. “Eds and I. We’re busy. I’m really sorry, Stan.”

“Busy?” Stan’s face falls. “Doing what?”

“I told Bill’s dad I would fix up his car,” Eddie fibs. “The engine’s been making a weird noise.”

“Oh. Alright.” Stan still looks disappointed, but he doesn’t push the issue. “Mike?”

“I’m free,” Mike says. “I can meet you whenever your shift is over.”

Stan’s lips split into a grin. “Great.”

Bill sips at his orange juice, hoping to meet Eddie’s eye again. But Eddie isn’t looking at him anymore. His gaze is locked on Greta, just across the building, and Bill knows exactly what he’s thinking.

-

That night, Eddie parks his car in front of their old high school english teacher’s house. Bill feels sort of bad about it. Mister Epping had spent a lot of time telling Bill he had potential. He had been the one to help edit all his college essays, not that they were any good anyway. But, still, he had tried. And Bill still appreciates the effort.

Mister Epping hadn’t even looked disappointed when Bill had told him he was heading to Southern Maine Community College in the fall. He still told Bill he was proud of him, and still believed he had potential.

Bill doubts he would still believe that if he knew what he was getting up to now. He knows he wouldn’t understand.

But there’s nothing that can be done about that. It’s not Bill’s fault Mister Epping’s house is directly across from Greta’s.

A burger wrapper crinkles under Eddie’s feet as he moves to face Bill, his face peeking out from the darkness. “Do you really think she’s gonna come out?”

“It’s Greta,” Bill says. “Of course she’s gonna come out. No way is she going to spend her nights cooped up inside the house.”

“But what if she doesn’t?” Eddie asks. “What do we do then?”

Bill shrugs. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”

Eddie picks silently at the plate of fries they had brought along. They’re mostly cold by now, but sometimes there’s nothing better to do. “Do you think Richie’s angry with me?”

“No,” Bill says. “Why do you think he’s angry? Because of what happened at the diner?”

Eddie nods. “Maybe it’s dumb. But I can never tell if Richie likes me or not. Because sometimes I think he does, but whenever I try to get closer he always freezes up. Like back at the diner. Maybe I’m just making shit up. I don’t even know if he’s gay.”

“You know that no matter what happens, Richie is always going to be your friend,” Bill says. He finds himself picking the words out from between his teeth. Carefully, as if he’s dealing with glass. “Even if he’s not gay. If you tell him - or if he finds out somehow - he’s not going to hate you.”

“Yeah,” Eddie mumbles. “I guess you’re right.”

Bill has a sinking suspicion that he doesn’t  _ really _ believe him, but before he can attempt to further his point, there’s a sharp knock at the driver’s side window. Eddie just about jumps out of his seat in fright. He shares a look with Bill - one that clearly expresses  _ we’ve been caught _ \- before rolling down the window.

“Hello?” Eddie’s voice is surprisingly cheery, masking his fear with faux friendliness. “Is something wrong?”

“Eddie Kaspbrak?” Mister Epping’s voice floats through the air, and Bill finds the oddest mixture of relief and horror rising in his chest. Beside him, Bill can see Eddie’s shoulders relax. “What are you doing here?”

“We were just taking a midnight drive,” Bill says quickly. “We decided to stop and chat. We’re really sorry if we frightened you.”

“It’s quite alright,” Mister Epping says. “But your car has been parked here for hours, you gave Sadie quite a scare.”

“Sorry,” Eddie says, and he does sound genuinely apologetic. Mrs Dunhill had always been Eddie’s favorite teacher.

“You boys should be more careful,” Mister Epping says. “I’m sure you’ve heard all about the recent murders.”

“Oh, but they’re not going to come down here,” Eddie says. “Haven’t they all been up in Portland?”

“Yes, but you never know.”

“We’ll be careful,” Bill promises. “You don’t have to worry about us.”

Mister Epping doesn’t look entirely convinced. Bill has had a lot of apathetic teachers in his past, ones that truly couldn’t care less what happened to their students as long as it was out of their classroom. Mister Epping was never one of those teachers.

“They all went to Derry High, you know,” he says. “I don’t know if the police have figured it out yet, but there is a pattern. So who’s to say the killer won’t come down here looking for more victims? I don’t think you two should be so dismissive of that. Especially after the summer of ‘89. I’m sure you remember it.”

Bill does remember. He remembers all too well. Though he thinks he remembers a very different version than Mister Epping remembers.

“Were they students of yours?” Bill asks. “Do you remember them?”

Mister Epping’s face turns grave. “Some of them were. But I remember them all, even the ones that weren’t in my classes.”

Something about that makes Bill’s stomach churn. For a moment he’s terrified his cheeseburger is going to come back up and splatter all over the floor of Eddie’s car. Eddie would kill him, of course, because it would make the car smell like onions and puke for the rest of time. But he finds that to be the least of his worries for the moment.

“Maybe - Maybe we should get going,” Eddie says. He reaches a shaky hand towards the ignition. The car roars to life, and The Ramones start to jam over Eddie’s static-filled radio. “We really are sorry, Mister Epping. You’ll tell Mrs Dunhill we’re sorry, won’t you?”

“Of course, Eddie,” Mister Epping says. “But don’t sweat it too much. You boys get home safely, it was good catching up again.”

Bill raises one hand in a sort of half wave. “Goodbye, Mister Epping.”

They leave in silence. The only sounds are The Ramones, insisting they don’t want to be buried in a pet cemetery, and the steady rumble of Eddie’s car. Only once they’ve rounded the corner does Eddie pull over again. For a moment Bill can’t understand why, then he sees the horrified look on his face.

“Jesus fuck, man,” Eddie says.

“I know.”

“That was horrible.”

“I know.” Bill takes a moment to study his friend. He’s white knuckling the steering wheel, and veins are popping out of his arms like they’re about to explode. It almost frightens Bill to see. “If you don’t want to go after Greta - If you don’t want to do this at all - You don’t have to. I won’t try to pull you back in.”

“Are you still going to do it?” Eddie asks. “Are you going to kill Greta Bowie?”

Bill hesitates. He nods.

“Alright,” Eddie says. “Then I’m still in. But promise me we’ll be careful. If people really are starting to notice a pattern, we can’t let it get traced back to us.”

“Eds I swear to God I won’t let anyone catch you.”

“ _ Us _ . You won’t let anyone catch  _ us _ .”

“Right. I won’t let anyone catch uh-uh-us.”

Eddie nods. “Good. Now let’s get this over with.”

-

This time they park in front of Marcia’s house. They only have to wait another half hour or so before Greta’s car comes around the corner, stopping just across from theirs. Marcia comes out to meet her, head bowed and arms wrapped tightly around herself. Their lips move silently. Bill can hardly make out the movements through the dark window. Then Marcia slides into Greta’s passenger seat and the car starts up again.

Eddie follows at a distance far enough to, hopefully, not be noticed. He’s still tense from their earlier conversation with Mister Epping, but it has since dissolved into a sort of firm determination instead of the horror that seemed to drip from his features a half hour ago. It is true they had gotten careless. When they killed Sally they had hardly been isolated. Anyone could have walked down the street and found them. But maybe that was part of the thrill of it all.

Bill digs through the backpack at his feet. Eddie can hear the metal clanking together inside - old kitchen knives and such. It’s too difficult to find any really good weapons, and by now it might be too risky. But Bill invested in a cheap blade sharpener when they started this business. Despite the fact that it is dirt cheap - enough so that Eddie lives in a constant state of fear that it will fall apart at random - it works pretty well. Any one of the knives buried in the bottom of Bill’s backpack could cut through skin like hot butter. But even without the sharpener, Eddie wouldn’t be worried about their weapons choices. After all, they went into the sewers with nothing but a couple of flashlights and a gun loaded with a single bullet. If that can take care of a murderous alien clown, then surely their collection of kitchen knives could take care of a couple of rambunctious teenagers.

Greta pulls into the back parking lot of an old coffee joint. Normally, this would be a problem. In Portland most of the coffee houses are 24 hours, and are rarely ever free of patrons. But just about everything in Derry seems to close by eight, at the latest. That’s what happens when every shop is a mom-and-pop joint owned by an elderly couple who want to be home in bed before the clock hits double digits.

Eddie pulls in a few down spaces down from Greta. He has barely put the car in park when something comes flying across the parking lot and shatters against the side of Eddie’s car.

“What the  _ fuck _ was that?”

“I think Greta threw something at us,” Bill says. He can make out the faint outline of Greta shooting them the finger through the open window of her car.

“For fuck’s sake I’m gonna fucking kill her.”

Eddie storms out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Bill can hear him screaming before he even makes it to Greta’s car, but Bill doesn’t get out yet. He takes his time picking out the perfect knife. Something that’s sure to make the process quick and easy. It’s not a decision to take lightly. He eventually settles on his father’s old steak knife, a thick and sturdy knife that's blade seems to glint even in the darkness.

He shoves it into his belt, followed quickly by a second knife for Eddie, before hopping out of the car. The pavement is covered in the shattered pieces of a beer bottle. The last few sips are still dripping down the side of Eddie’s car. Bill winces at the sight.

“You could have broken something!” Eddie is shouting.

“Yeah, I wish I had!” Greta snaps. “Teach you to follow people in the middle of the night!”

“Well are you going to pay for it?”

“No!”

By the time Bill reaches Eddie’s side, his friend is starting to look as if he’s ready to spontaneously combust. Greta looks furious too: Cheeks scarlet and eyes bright. Marcia just looks exhausted, a second beer bottle between her hands. She sips at it throughout the argument. Bill can see a pile of bottles by Marcia’s feet, some full, some not.

“Oh, God, there are two of you,” Greta says. “What the hell do you want?”

“Just to talk,” Bill says. “I think there’s a misunderstanding. We weren’t following you.”

“Oh yeah?” Greta sneers. “Then what the hell were you doing?”

“We just wanted to see if the cafe was open,” Bill says.

“It’s not.”

“I see that now. Would you mind coming out and taking a look at Eddie’s car?”

Greta repeats the name under her breath. Her lips move slowly over the word, like she’s trying to test the feel of it in her mouth. “Eddie...Eddie...Eddie Kaspbrak.” Her eyes flit back to Eddie, and a cruel laugh rips its way out of her throat. “Oh this is fucking rich.  _ You _ were the one stalking us? I remember you.”

“I wasn’t stalking you-”

“If I look at your car will you leave us alone?”

“Greta.” Marcia pipes up for the first time that night. She’s hugging the beer bottle close to her chest to hide her shaking hands. “Don’t. You know - You know that’s not smart. Especially after what happened to - to-” Her face screws up, and a moment later she bursts into tears.

“To Sally?” Bill supplies. He offers a sympathetic smile. “I heard about what happened to her, I really am sorry.”

Marcia sobs in response, tears and snot running down her face. Greta’s eyes are starting to look shiny too, but she swallows thickly and hops out of the car.

“Whatever,” she mumbles. “It’s not like you ever cared about her. Let’s just get this over with.”

“ _ Greta _ ,” Marcia warns.

“I’ll be fine,” Greta says. “It’s not like these creeps are any sort of threat.” She meanders over to Eddie’s car, ignoring Marcia’s blubbering. “Your car is fine, Wheezy.”

Eddie glares at her, but doesn’t comment on the nickname. “What if the paint is chipped?”

“It’s  _ fine _ ,” Greta repeats. “There’s literally nothing wrong with it. Now you promised you would leave us alone.”

She steps to turn back to her own car, but before she can Bill swoops in and slams her against the car, pinning her in place with his forearms. From somewhere behind them, Marcia screams.

“What the fuck?” shouts Greta. “Get off me!” She squirms a little in Bill’s grip, but can’t get the leverage to shove him off. “You fucking creep! My dad - My dad will have your head!”

There is probably some truth in that statement. Greta Bowie’s father is one of the richest men in Derry, not that that’s saying much in the long run. If they had real money they would have moved out of Derry a long time ago. But they are Derry rich. Meaning they have a nice house they specifically bought with the intention of building add ons until they had their own mini mansion and enough money to buy their spoiled brat of a daughter whatever she demands. He probably could gather enough money to buy a nice lawyer and put Bill away for a long, long time. Despite this, Bill isn’t really worried about Greta’s father.

“God, you’re  _ fine _ ,” Eddie parrots. He slides the second knife out of Bill’s belt, admiring it for a moment. “Nice choice.”

“Thanks.”

Bill presses his own knife to the small of Greta’s back. As soon as he does, Greta stops struggling. Bill can see her eyes widen through the reflection in the car window.

Her voice is hoarse as she says, “Someone will come. Someone - Someone will hear.”

“You know that no one comes down here at this time of night,” Bill says.

Greta falls silent, and when Bill checks their reflection he can see the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m sorry I threw the bottle, alright? It - It was dumb. I didn’t - I didn’t mean - mean to make-” She cuts herself off with a shuddering breath. Bill realizes with a sort of belated curiosity that she’s trying to hide her tears from him.

There’s another scream from Marcia. Bill risks a look over his shoulder. Eddie’s back at the car now, trapping Marcia inside. But he hasn’t even touched her yet. Dramatic much?

Unfortunately for Bill, Greta notices his moment of distraction. She kicks him sharply in the shin, and when he stumbles she makes a grab for the knife. She swings it wildly. Enough so that Bill is forced to take a step back. But the blade still manages to make contact, slicing through the skin just below Bill’s shoulder.

Lucky for him, out of all Greta’s talents, none of them are knife-wielding. He doubts it will be anywhere near fatal. But the pain is still excruciating, and the shout he lets out is loud enough to make Eddie freeze on the other side of the parking lot.

“Ffff-Fuh-Fuh-Fuck,” he whispers. The blood that flows down his arm is warm. It blooms across the sleeve of his sweatshirt, stains of red appearing like freshly blossomed flowers.

“I remember you too,” Greta says. The hand with the knife in it shakes.

“Then I’m ss-sure this doesn’t ss-sur-surprise you,” Bill says.

“You killed Sally too, didn’t you?” Greta says. “And - And those other kids. Was it you back in ‘89 too?”

That sends a jolt through Bill, a nasty feeling that starts in his stomach and ends up in his throat. “No. You think I would kill my own bbb-br-bruh-bruh-broth-brother?”

“It’s not unheard of.” Greta tries to step around him, the knife still held out in front of her. “Now I’m going to get in the car, and I’m going to drive away. And then I’m going to call the police.” She walks backwards to the car, eyes glued on Bill the entire time. “I don’t care where you go after I leave. As long as you end up in jail.”

Bill watches her warily. That’s his favorite knife. If she leaves with it he’ll never get it back.

“I knew you guys were freaks, but, God, I never thought-” But Greta never finishes that thought. In her hurry to get away from Bill, she had entirely forgotten about Eddie. Now he’s behind her, one arm tight around her waist and a knife to the throat.

“Drop it,” he says. She drops it. The knife lands on the ground with a clatter, and Bill hurries to scoop it up. Now that he’s face to face with Greta - now that she’s trapped for good - she doesn’t bother trying to hide her tears.

“I’m suh-suh-sorr-rry!” she wails. “I won’t - won’t te-ell any-anyone! I prom-promi-ise!”

“We know you won’t,” Bill says.

His knife - all seven inches - sinks into Greta’s stomach at the same moment Eddie slits her throat. Her mouth opens to scream but all that comes out is a watery gurgle. Blood trails from the corners of her mouth like drool, staining her powdery cheeks.

A car door slams, followed immediately by the sound of footsteps running as fast as they can.

“You do ah-after her,” Bill says. “I’ll deal with Greta.”

Eddie nods, letting Greta drop to the ground before taking off in the same direction as Marcia. Bill kneels down next to her. This time she doesn’t try to fight back. She knows she’s good as dead anyway. Already, Bill can see the light behind her eyes flickering.

“You can lose a ll-lot of bb-bl-blood with a neck wound like that,” Bill says casually. He takes her hand in his, laying it flat on the ground so all her fingers are splayed out. “You really ought to bb-be more cc-care-careful.” He positions the knife above her middle finger - the same one she used to flip them the bird earlier in the night - and starts to cut. The scream she lets out is blood chilling, but she’s dead by the time he finishes.

Eddie is dragging Marcia with him when he returns. She’s sobbing incoherently, and it only gets worse when she sees Greta’s body.

“This is for your car,” Bill says. He chucks the finger at Eddie, but it hits Marcia in the face instead. She cries harder.

“Gee, thanks,” Eddie drawls. “C’mon, get her back in the car.” He drags Marcia back into the passenger seat, strapping her back in and everything. “Awe, no need to cry. It’ll be fast, I promise.” Marcia hides her face in her hands, tears dribbling out from between her fingers. She peeks out again when someone else sits in the driver’s seat. She’s positive it’s going to be Bill. She’s sure he’s going to drive away with her, take her to some far off location and kill her there. Or keep her alive to torture. But instead it’s Greta’s body she sees, blood stains and glassy eyes included. She screams at the sight, and scrambles to unbuckle her seatbelt. But Eddie grabs her wrist. “C’mon, don’t do that. You know it won’t do any good.” She does know that, and a moment later goes limp in Eddie’s hold. Eddie slams the door on her.

The keys are still in the ignition, so all Bill has to do is turn them and the car roars to life. Marcia watches him with tear filled eyes as he reaches over Greta’s body to change the gear. Then all he has to do is drop a sturdy sized rock on the gas pedal and jump out of the way.

The car drives into the cafe at full speed.

-

Bill and Eddie sleep through most of the next day. Because of this, they miss their friends’ usual morning meet up at the diner. But Richie calls after their shift to tell both of them that the rest of them are going to be down at their old clubhouse that evening if they want to join. Bill shudders to think what shape the clubhouse would be in now - after not having been used for over a year. But that had always been their place and it seems a shame not to ever go back.

“How’s your arm feeling?” Eddie asks on the drive over.

“It’s alright,” Bill says. “It doesn’t hurt as much as last night.”

Eddie nods. “It wasn’t that deep, so you should be fine. Just remember to keep it clean until it heals.” He parks just outside the barrens, but doesn’t move to get out yet. “What did you tell your parents?”

“Nothing,” Bill says. “They didn’t ask.”

“Oh.” Eddie drums his fingers over the steering wheel. “Sorry.”

Bill shrugs. “It’s easier than coming up with an excuse.” He hops out of the car before Eddie can question him further.

The walk to the clubhouse is exactly the same as Bill remembers, if maybe a little more overgrown. But it still rings that same old familiar bell. More and more memories pop up as he walks. Memories he hadn’t even known he had forgotten.

He hates to think about the whole clown curse thing affecting him. But there’s really nothing that can be done to avoid it. Even being as close as Portland, there are things that slipped his mind. Things that seemed to vanish entirely. He had gotten lucky remembering anything at all. It’s only a matter of time before that luck runs out.

But a part of him almost wants to forget. It’s scary to think about now, but he can’t help but wonder if life will be easier once he doesn’t remember anything. He can start over fresh. A completely blank slate. He has to admit, it sounds nice.

“Big Bill!” Richie’s voice is the one that snaps him out of his thoughts, and he realizes he’s standing at the edge of the clubhouse. “You made it! Where’s the tiny, angry one?”

Bill snorts.

“I am  _ not _ tiny!” Eddie snaps. He glowers at Richie over Bill’s shoulder, but Richie remains unmoved.

“Who said that?” He puts a hand over his eyes, as if searching the horizon. “Did you guys hear anything?”

Mike swats at Richie’s shoulder, despite the amused smile on his face. “Lay off, Rich. Geez.”

Eddie jumps into the clubhouse - foregoing the ladder entirely - and lands right next to Richie. “You’re a real asshole, you know that? I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because you wuv me.” Richie makes kissy faces at him, only for Eddie to shriek and push him away.

Bill follows him down into the clubhouse, this time choosing to utilize the ladder. He would like to avoid any sort of broken ankles, thank you very much. He settles down next to Stan, who had brought his own blanket from home to sit on. Bill is silently thankful. The clubhouse, while well loved, had always accumulated a lot of dirt and dust. Even more so in the last year.

“Hey.” As if on instinct, Stan shuffles closer to Bill. “We missed having you around last night.”

Bill feels a smile grow across his face. “Yeah? I missed you too. I’m really sorry we had to skip out.”

Stan shrugs. “It’s alright. Life happens. Jesus, Bill, what happened to your arm?” He brushes his fingers over the bandage. Eddie had dragged Bill into Sonia Kaspbrak’s bathroom late last night, when Greta’s car was still undiscovered in the wall of the coffee shop, and bandaged up the cut as tight as he could.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Bill says. “I was trying to help Eds with the car but,” he gestures vaguely with his good arm, “clearly that is not my forte.”

Stan chuckles quietly. “Clearly not.” He kisses the pads of his pointer and middle finger before placing them on the bandages. “Now you’re healed.”

“Thank you. Your kiss has healed me, I’ll never need a doctor again.”

“I know,” Stan says. “Imagine how much money you’ll save that would have gone to hospital bills.”

Bill cracks a smile. “Oh, so much money.” The hand attached to his good arm creeps across the blanket until it’s resting on top of Stan’s, hidden out of view of their friends. Stan doesn’t move it away.

“Did you guys know Greta died last night?” Mike asks. He’s sitting on an old stool the losers had dragged in here a few years ago, his chin resting on his palm and his elbow resting on his knee. “The police are saying she was driving drunk.”

“That’s so fucking dangerous,” Eddie says. As if he isn’t the reason Greta’s dead in the first place. By now him and Richie have stopped fighting, at least for the moment. They’re back in their usual spot, the old hammock they hung up when Ben first built this thing, with Eddie’s feet in Richie’s face and Richie’s knees jabbing into Eddie’s ribs. They fit comfortably when they were kids, but over the years the hammock has struggled more and more to hold them both.

“I saw it on the news this morning,” Richie says. “My mom flipped out. Almost didn’t let me drive here at all.”

Stan raises an amused eyebrow. “Is that why she drove you to work this morning?”

“Sure is,” Richie says. “Did you know Greta’s apparently missing a whole finger?”

“Oh, God.” Stan shrinks back, suddenly looking very pale. “How does that even happen?”

“Shut the fuck up, Richie,” Eddie snaps. His socked foot knocks against Richie’s forehead. “You’re gonna make Stan puke. Is that what you want?” Stan sends Eddie a thankful look. He did not wake up today prepared to hear stories about missing fingers.

“Get your foot out of my face!” Richie cackles. “You’re gonna smudge my glasses!”

“Marcia Fadden was with her too,” Mike says. He has always regarded death as a very serious matter - as most people do - and does not look amused by Richie and Eddie’s little spat. Richie has the decency to at least look ashamed. Eddie doesn’t react at all. “They’re both dead.”

“My dad always used to say if you died alone in a car crash people would mourn you,” Richie says, “but if you killed someone else along with you people would spit on your grave.”

“I feel like all our old classmates are just dropping like flies,” Stan says. “You don’t - You don’t think it could be the killer, do you? The one that’s up in Portland?”

“I don’t think so,” Mike says. “It was just bad timing.”

“Greta’s always been a bad driver,” Eddie says. “And she’s never been able to handle her alcohol. Mixing them together was just her own mistake. It’s her fault she chose to be an idiot.”

“I don’t think we should say that,” Stan says. “Greta wasn’t the best person but she was still a person. Imagine how her family feels.”

But that’s not fair. Greta wasn’t just anyone. She tormented them throughout their entire childhood, up until they graduated. Bill had done everyone a favor. Now no one will have to deal with her ever again. They should be celebrating. Not sitting here mourning someone who would have never batted an eye if their positions were reversed.

“Her family are all ah-assholes too,” Bill says. “I don’t know why we should feel ss-sor-sorry for them.”

Stan jerks back as if he’s been smacked. “Because they just lost their daughter, Bill. I thought you would understand something like that.”

Bill narrows his eyes at him. “Why? Because of Juh-Juh-Geor-Georgie?”

“I mean-”

“That’s nuh-nuh-not the ss-same thing.”

Stan bites his tongue. Sometimes it’s best not to argue with Bill about these things, even if Stan thinks he’s right. He’s pretty sure he’s right. Maybe it’s a little different but the hurt is the same. It’s not like Mr&Mrs Bowie are going to miss Greta any less than Bill misses Georgie.

“Bill.” Eddie’s voice floats over from the hammock. His voice is stern, and evidently this topic has turned serious enough that he no longer feels the need to kick Richie in the face. “C’mon. Don’t be a dick.”

“I’m  _ not- _ ” But Eddie shoots him a glare and Bill quickly falls silent. A part of Stan almost feels jealous. If only he could shut Richie up with just a look.

“It’s fine,” Stan says. Even though it feels very, very far from fine. “It doesn’t - It doesn’t matter.” He clears his throat. “I - uh - I should get going. My parents want me home before it gets dark.”

Bill stands wordlessly, letting Stan fold up the blanket and tuck it under his arm. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Stan says. “It’s not far.”

“I don’t mind.”

Stan traps his lower lip between his teeth, gnawing at it slowly. “Alright. Thank you.” Stan says his goodbyes to the others, promising Richie he’ll be safe and not crash into any cafes. Bill leaves without saying a word, and when Stan finds him he’s standing with his hands in his pockets and his eyes staring blankly at his shoes. Stan nudges him with his shoulder. “You alright?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah. I was just...thinking.”

“What about?”

Bill shrugs. “Nothing in particular. C’mon, let’s get you home.”

His hand falls on the small of Stan’s back, keeping him close as he leads him through the barrens. The feeling is foreign, but not unwelcome. Him and Bill are no stranger to being touchy, but things have seemed different recently. Stan can’t help but worry there’s something he’s forgetting. Something that had led to them holding hands so carelessly. The only thing stopping him from going crazy is he doesn’t think Bill remembers either. Still, even without remembering, it feels nice to have some sort of unspoken intimacy.

“You don’t have to worry about the murders,” Bill says suddenly. “Even if they do come to Derry.” When Stan doesn’t say anything - because he doesn’t believe there’s anything he can say - Bill continues on, “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know,” Stan says. “But some things are out of your control, Bill.”

Bill falls silent. He would never admit it, but Stan knows hearing those words sting. He puts on a good persona pretending he doesn’t care, but he doesn’t like when he can’t control the outcome. “Then I would avenge you. Defend your honor.”

Stan finally cracks, a smile breaking free of his stony expression. “You better.”

Bill stops. It’s so sudden that Stan walks nearly a foot ahead of him before realizing Bill isn’t beside him. “I mean it. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

The expression on his face makes Stan’s throat go dry. Bill’s eyes are blue and piercing, and they’re watching Stan with such certainty that Stan can’t help but believe him. He’s certain that if whoever is behind the murders did find him, he would walk away unscathed.

Stan hurries to close the gap between them. By the time he stops he can feel Bill’s breath on his face.

“A part of me wishes I had stayed in New York,” he admits in a whisper. “I know it isn’t It this time but...all these murders. It’s so familiar.” Something flickers in Bill’s eyes, but it’s gone as soon as it’s there. Stan doesn’t have time to question it before Bill’s hands are reaching out to wrap around Stan’s wrists, the tips of his fingers pressing against Stan’s pulse-point. “I know I wouldn’t remember any of you but…” He doesn’t finish that thought. Because what is he supposed to say? But sometimes not remembering anything is easier than remembering everything. Even if it includes the good.

“I’m glad you came home,” Bill murmurs.

Stan looks up at him curiously. The sun is setting behind Bill’s head, making the sky swirl with pinks and oranges. “Did you remember me? While you were at school?”  
“Yes.”

“I didn’t remember you.”

“I know.”

“I wish I had,” Stan says. “I think I would have been more excited about coming home if I knew you were waiting for me.”

Bill squeezes his hands. “You don’t have to feel bad, Stan. Richie didn’t remember either. And, hell, we don’t even know if Bev and Ben are coming home.”

“That’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

Stan hesitates.  _ Why not? _ “I - I don’t know. It just isn’t.”

One of Bill’s hands slips from Stan’s wrists. It moves to grasp his chin, gently tilting his head up so he’s looking Bill in the eyes. “I don’t know either. But I missed you more than anyone else.”

“Yeah?”

Instead of answering, Bill leans in. His lips are chapped, but they’re still soft against Stan’s own. And Stan doesn’t really mind. Kissing Bill feels like coming home. Because he’s done this before. He remembers now - he doesn’t know how he could have forgotten. On the day he was moving out, the day he was finally going to get on a plane and get out of this town, Bill had come over to see him off. All the Losers had. But Bill had come last, insisting he wanted to say goodbye on his own. He had kissed him in his childhood bedroom. It said everything he couldn’t. Only problem was an hour later Stan was on a plane and already forgetting everything Derry had to offer. Including Bill.

“Can I tt-tuh-tuh-take you ou-out?” Bill asks. His face is still close enough that Stan can hear his labored breathing.

Stan can’t stop himself from forgetting, but he can make it worthwhile this time around. He still has three months with Bill. And he isn’t going to let them go to waste again. “Tomorrow.”

“I can do tomorrow.”

This time Stan’s the one to reach out, threading their fingers together as they continue the trek back to the car. But it doesn’t take long to get there, and by the time they emerge from the barrens Stan has to release Bill’s hand. He knows the Losers won’t care - Richie and himself have already had long, in depth discussions about their sexualities and what that means - but that doesn’t mean there aren’t people in Derry who wouldn’t string them up for it. Stan doesn’t think he could face it, even with Bill’s promise to protect him.

“Thank you for walking me,” Stan says. “This was nice.” He finds himself looking at Bill’s lips as he says it. The corners quirk up, and a moment later Bill’s tongue darts out to wet them.

“Don’t mention it,” he says. “And I - I’m sorry about what I said back at the clubhouse.”

“Oh.” Stan had almost forgotten about it entirely. “Don’t worry about it. I know she wasn’t the best person, so,” he kicks awkwardly at a tuft of grass, “I get it.”

“Yeah, but I think it’s sweet you care about other people.”

Stan flushes, but he can’t stop himself from grinning up at him. “Do you need a ride home?”

“Eddie already said he would drive me,” Bill says. “But thank you. I should probably head back, anyway. Make sure they know we aren’t fighting.”

“You won’t tell them about,” Stan gestures vaguely, the pads of his fingers brushing against his own lips, “ya know.”

“I won’t tell them.” Bill looks slightly amused, but still just as earnest as he had looked a moment before. “That stays bb-between us.”

“Good. Thank you.” Stan is tempted to kiss Bill again. But he settles for squeezing his hand instead. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Bill’s grin widens. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Hopefully it won't be long before the second part is out, but it might take me awhile to write it. But stay tuned because I promise I have some good stuff in store for part two.
> 
> If you liked this fic, please consider leaving a comment! I would love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr!  
> Main: im-a-rocketman  
> writing/IT: s-oulpunk


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